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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28063824">to never doubt again</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lauribunny/pseuds/lauribunny'>lauribunny</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>1917 (Movie 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Family, Family Angst, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Gen, Headcanon, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, William Schofield is a good dad, World War I, i just love dad scho so much</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:36:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,515</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28063824</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lauribunny/pseuds/lauribunny</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>William Schofield is home from the war- but he hasn't really left, and the rift between him and his family- specifically his elder daughter, comes to fruition on a very stormy night.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>William Schofield &amp; His Children, William Schofield &amp; Original Female Character(s), William Schofield/William Schofield's Wife</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>places not so far-1917</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>to never doubt again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>first 1917 fic of many to come! I absolutely adore Dad Scho, and I've given him an entire family to come back to. Special thanks to Even @thevenbluewrites on the discord for letting me use her Violet as Goldie and Clarey's mother!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>William Schofield sits in the living room of his house, alone. It is the dead of night- last time he'd checked the clock, it had read 1:24 am.</p><p>He couldn't sleep. He had hardly had a good rest since he'd return home from the war, save for the first night, when he was simply so fully worn through he had no energy to go on. Whenever he closed his eyes to rest, to seek some solitude from the reverberations and ghosts that had haunted him on the battlefields of France and Belgium, to try to ease his way back into his home- his home! The woman he loved, his daughters, for god's sake, were in this house. But he did not feel he was there. Not entirely.</p><p>He didn't understand the distance he felt. He had absolutely nothing else to plague him so- and yet there he sat, the rest of his family asleep. Violet was softly snoring when he'd left her side, her dark hair spilling over the satin pillowcase. She knew the turbulence that came in the night all too well, but he had done his best not to disturb her.</p><p>He should have been cherishing his time back, without the persistent ache of leaving them. He should have relished in finally rejoining his daughter's childhoods, of being able to watch them grow, to share his world with them. To the arms of his wife, to the joy in his work at the bookstore, to appreciate the world he'd been so far withdrawn from. But it was all numb nothingness. Life now had a nature of lull and slow pacing, It did not give him the same drive, the urge to cling to it, as he had felt in the trenches. He feels himself a tumbling shadow, a whisper of whatever he had been before. And it felt as if nothing could fill that fracturing void.</p><p>He sits on the couch, staring out at nothingness, the only ambience the distant rustling of wind through the trees and the droning tocks of the old grandfather clock.</p><p>He remains in his contemplation for a moment more, before he noted that the slight creaks he'd dismissed as the house fighting the blusters outside seemed to draw nearer. He looked to the source, and saw his daughter, Marigold, peaking out from behind the doorframe, her wide eyes meeting his before she ducks her head.</p><p>He softens, righting his posture before giving her a concerned look.</p><p>"Goldie, my sweet, it's far past your bedtime. Is everything alright?" He asks quietly, and she steps out from behind her spot, her nightgown rumpled and her raven locks matted. Her doe eyes are puffed and red, distress knitting her petite brow.</p><p>"Are you sick?" He feels a deepening worry rise in his chest. The flu was passing around quicker by the day, and he had heard stories of small ones lost in its path of destruction. She is six, but children older and heartier than her had been taken all the same.</p><p>"No, I'm not." She replies flatly, her expression not waning.</p><p>Though it didn't explain anything else about her disposition, it was a great relief all the same.</p><p>He decides to try again/</p><p>"Goldie, come. Why are you up so late? I thought Mama tucked you into bed just past eight."</p><p>She nods. "She did."</p><p>A beat.</p><p>"Daddy," she whispers, her eyes furrowing deeply into his. She had his eyes- they were her mother's brown, but he had seen his own in too oft in glimpsing reflections to see them for anything else. Those weary, tired eyes.</p><p>"Yes, Goldie?" He responds, gently brushing a wisp of black hair behind her ear. He lets his fingers settle on her cheek, gently stroking it with his thumb. It was slightly wet- she had been crying. He feels a twinge in his stomach.</p><p>"Daddy, did I do something bad?" She asks, her lip quivering. Her expression is of anguish- it brings him strife to see his child in such pain.</p><p>"No , Goldie, of course not. Though you really ought to be in bed at this hour." He replies soothingly, but this does not console her.</p><p>"Daddy, do... do you wish you had a different Goldie? Do you not love me anymore?" She blurts, trembling under his touch.</p><p>The words rip through him like shrapnel.</p><p>He does not know what to say.</p><p>He feels a mortified sob wrack his chest, tears spilling down his cheeks. He stares at her in dumbfounded silence. She is crying too- her small torso heaving with the force. He brushes a droplet away, feeling his hands uncertain and entirely detached.</p><p>"I..." He breathes, trying to break the silence in any way that he can, but it is futile. He cannot even bear the words. He does not think he has the strength to say them.  He could rip across No-Man's-Land to save the skins of men he would never meet, yet he could not even fathom the challenge of having to assure his own child that he still wanted her. He cannot comprehend how he has allowed her to feel such things. How he let his daughter- his flesh and bone, a piece of him brought into the mortal plane through love- to ever doubt her father held it for her.</p><p>He pulls her close to him, pressing her tightly to himself, feeling her feeble warmth as she buries her head into his neck, her slight weight as she sits on his lap. He strokes her hair. He cannot find the words, so he hopes it is some form of remediation.</p><p>He feels his tether to reality begin to slip as he hushes and rocks her gently , remembering the farm... the German pilot. Blake.</p><p>He didn't know what to say then, either. And then he was gone, and it was too late, and so many things were left unsaid.</p><p>And he is there for a moment, and the crushing agony of it all returns to him, and the next he is in his living room, cradling his trembling child, feeling the dreadful weight of her doubting his love settle on his shoulders. He wants to say something to her. He does not want to run out of time.</p><p>"Daddy, will you ever leave me again?" Marigold whispers, resting her head against his chest.</p><p>"No, Goldie. As long as I am alive, I will never leave you and Clarey and Mama ever again." He responds, and he feels her curl up closer.</p><p>"Okay. I believe you." She murmurs, taking a deep breath, her chest still heaving.</p><p>The quiet does not fade. Will wraps his arms around her tighter, and he feels her close one of her hands around his index and middle fingers. He clasps the small grasp with his own,  tracing her small hand gently, the top her of head just grazing his chin.</p><p>His eyes find the clock. 1:39 in the morning. The dead of night. The front was always the most peaceful at this time.</p><p>He reminds himself that he is not at the front. That he is with his daughter. He carefully lifts her around to meet his gaze, her feature not as woven with the inset dread as they had prior. She looks far more at peace, despite her complexion being red and splotchy from crying.</p><p>"Goldie," he says, carefully clearing the remaining matted strands of hair from her forehead.</p><p>"Yes?" She asks, her eyes curious, her tears no longer falling.</p><p>"I'm so, so sorry." He chokes, feeling an onslaught of new emotion spill over as he utters the words.</p><p>She nods slowly, her eyes not parting from his. A pleading look. He'd seen it so many times over.</p><p>"I love you, Marigold Helen Schofield. I love you more than you will ever know. Your happiness is my happiness, and your pain is my pain." He lulls, and she nods again, a small smile forming on her lips.</p><p>"So you don't want a new Goldie? She asks, and he cracks a tired laugh.</p><p>"No, I have the best Goldie in the entire world right here."</p><p>She averts her eyes, resting her head against his chest for another moment more.</p><p>"I love you, Daddy." She murmurs, and and he kisses the top of her head, the silence no longer as imposing.</p><p>Within moments, she is asleep. Will scoops her up in his arms, and carries her carefully up the stairs to her bedroom, the hum of her breathing beginning to make him drowsy. He gently sets her down, resting her head against her pillow, and pulls the quilt over her shoulders. She looks at peace, no longer afflicted by the sorrows that had so grasped her only minutes prior.</p><p>He places a kiss on her forehead, and stands to leave the room. Though the darkness still seems to encroach, and the shadows of the Front still linger, he went off to bed in determination that no child of his would ever doubt his love again.</p><p>He'd come back to them. He had to stay.</p>
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